A Full Cold Moon

by Lissa Marie Redmond

  He reached up and scratched the side of his neck. ‘I talked to my lawyer and he said I didn’t have to come if I didn’t want to.’

  ‘And now you want to?’

  ‘I want to convince my father I had nothing to do with Gunnar’s death. So yeah, I want to talk to you.’

  Lauren slipped a Miranda card out of her pocket and read off the warnings. When she was done, she had him date and sign the card. Once that was out of the way, she put the card on the desk. Putting her hands on her knees, she leaned forward, cutting the distance between their faces in half. ‘I know you lied about only seeing Gunnar at your father’s house. I know you went to his hotel.’

  Ryan put his hands up as if to slow her down. ‘Whoa. I only went there to talk to him. I didn’t lie. I never actually saw him. Some other guy came down.’

  ‘Who was the guy?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I told him I wanted to talk to Gunnar, and he said no. I admit I was pissed. I had no idea who this guy was. Probably some goon who was in on the scam with him. He said he was Gunnar’s companion.’

  ‘You still think Gunnar Jonsson was trying to scam your father?’

  Ryan’s face colored as his agitation rose. ‘I mean, yeah. Why else would he be dead? He probably brought that guy along to strong arm my dad and something went wrong. Maybe Gunnar tried to cut him out. Maybe a lover’s quarrel. Who knows?’

  ‘Did you out Gunnar to your father?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, because then I’d have to explain how I knew, just like I’m doing with you.’

  ‘How did you know where Gunnar was staying? Did your dad tell you?’

  Now he actually looked a little shame faced. ‘I followed him. Not my finest moment but I needed to talk to him one on one.’

  ‘Does your wife know you went to the hotel?’

  ‘I told her I had to meet with the private investigator I wanted to hire.’

  Lauren closed the gap even further. ‘Seems like you lie to everyone. What else have you lied about?’

  ‘Look, I told her I was meeting with a private investigator because I thought I could talk to the guy and figure out what his game was. When that backfired, I really did hire someone the next day and that’s who I was with when you say Gunnar was murdered.’

  ‘Can I have the name of this private investigator?’ Lauren laid a hand on the file, as if she wanted to add that information to it.

  He puckered his lips for a second, like a little kid who really didn’t want to tell his secret, then spat out, ‘Tony Borrelli. I was paying him his retainer and giving him all the background I knew about Gunnar, which wasn’t much. I went straight from my dad’s house at six and didn’t get home until after nine that night. You want Tony’s number?’

  ‘I know Tony. He’s a good PI. I know how to get ahold of him.’ Lauren had let her own private investigator’s license lapse almost a year before. Being a cop and a PI had gotten her into a lot of trouble over the years, and she had finally decided she was through with it for good. She still knew most of the players though, including Tony, who was a retired Transit cop and a really sharp guy. It would be easy enough to check out that part of Ryan’s story.

  ‘He’ll tell you. I was at his office in Amherst on Sheridan Drive. There’s no way I could have done it. I went right home, minus almost a thousand dollars.’ He paused, shaking his head in disgust. ‘Which now he says I can’t get back. Can Borrelli do that? Keep my money?’

  Reaching across the desk and throttling him was off the table, so all Lauren could do was remind him, ‘A man was murdered. Your brother is dead.’

  Ryan shrugged. ‘I didn’t even know him. I’m sorry he’s dead, for my father’s sake, but he should have never come here. What did he think was going happen?’

  Lauren sat back in her chair wanting to put some distance between herself and this repulsive person, interrogation techniques be damned. ‘I’m pretty sure he didn’t think he’d get murdered.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s what happens when you insert yourself into other people’s lives. Things go sideways.’ He gestured to Lauren. ‘Look at you. You came looking for Brooklyn when she didn’t want to be found, and you shot someone.’

  Lauren couldn’t keep the disgust from creeping into her voice. ‘I saved Brooklyn’s life. She was overdosing.’

  A bittersweet smile turned up the corners of Ryan’s mouth. ‘You think you did her a favor?’

  EIGHTEEN

  Lauren managed to wrap up the interview with Ryan without strangling him. Surprisingly, he gave her a swab of his DNA without an argument. ‘If it convinces my father I didn’t have anything to do with it, take my DNA, my fingerprints, whatever. I just want to be done with this.’

  She talked briefly with his wife, who corroborated Ryan’s story. Finally, she got up to Internal Affairs and gave her own statement about the events of that day. Matt had gone home, probably figuring it was best just to get a good night’s sleep and start over again in the morning. Lauren imagined he must be pretty shaken up as well, even if he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. She filed her activity reports, then texted Reese and told him she was on the way home.

  As Lauren packed up her gear, she couldn’t stop running the scene at the apartment through her head, thinking what she could have done differently, second-guessing herself. Ryan’s interview had been a distraction from that. His cold, heartless demeanor didn’t sit well with her. She’d check with Tony Borrelli and get Ryan’s E-Z Pass records, but she felt like she wasn’t done with him yet.

  It was almost one in the morning when she got in her car and drove north to her gated community near Delaware Park. As she pulled into her driveway, she could see her Christmas tree was still lit and her living room lights were on. She was just about to put her key in the lock when the door opened. Reese was standing there in his Buffalo Bills red, white and blue pajamas. He’d heard the car pull in. ‘Shhh.’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘Watson’s asleep.’

  He stepped back, letting her in, the warmth of her house engulfing her.

  ‘Come into the kitchen. I made you some tea.’

  She followed him as he retreated toward the back of the house. ‘Is there whiskey in the tea?’

  He looked over his shoulder. ‘Of course. You think we’re going to drink straight Earl Grey at one in the morning?’

  Two steaming cups of tea sat on her kitchen table. They sat down in the chairs that had somehow each become their own when they started living together. It hadn’t been a conscious choice, Lauren always sat facing the window and Reese always sat facing the door. Tonight, that little ritual held some comfort for Lauren as she wrapped her cold hands around the teacup. Reese had actually gone into the far cupboard and taken out the real teacups, instead of using his favorite Yankees mug or the Scooby Doo mug her daughter Lindsey had given her.

  He’d also put a bottle of Jameson between them.

  ‘How’re you doing?’

  She looked down into the cup, swirling the contents slightly. ‘I know I did everything right and it still bothers me.’ She laughed at herself. ‘That’s wrong. It doesn’t bother me, it disturbs me. Or pains me or something I can’t put into words. Like, it’s bullshit he made me shoot him and did this to me.’

  Reese waited a second for her to take a sip and then said, ‘Do you think that’s because of David Spencer?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She put the teacup down and opened her right hand. An angry-looking red scar crossed her palm from where a shard of glass had sliced through it. She’d had two surgeries immediately after the David Spencer incident, and although she’d regained full use of her hand, the scars would remain for the rest of her life. In more ways than one. ‘I killed David Spencer. He’d murdered at least six people, shot you, and was trying to kill me. Everything that led up to it, all the shit that went down, it seemed like that was how it was supposed to end. With one of us dying.’ She grabbed the bottle and added more whiskey to her tea. ‘And then it
would be finished.’

  ‘You’re still a cop, Riley. Cop shit is going to happen to you. It sucks, but you’re tough. The toughest old broad I know.’

  ‘If I was really tough, I’d punch you out for calling me a broad.’ She gulped down the tea and whiskey mix.

  ‘It’s the thought that counts,’ Reese said as he added more whiskey to his own cup.

  Watson barked once in his crate from Reese’s room and they both froze like parents of a newborn, listening to hear if the baby was up or just fussing in their crib. When ten seconds of silence passed, they both let out the breaths they’d been holding. Once Watson was up, he was up for the day.

  ‘Did you get anywhere on your homicide at least?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think the sister can be ruled out. But the brother?’ She shook her head. ‘He’s got an alibi, but I can’t clear him a hundred percent. I wouldn’t put it past him to have hired someone to kill his brother.’

  Reese ran his hand over his bald head, like he was feeling for the hair that was no longer there, tracing the lines of his scars instead. Look at the two us, Lauren thought, beat up, marred and scarred. But Lauren didn’t feel too sorry for him. The scars on his head didn’t deter women from constantly pursuing him.

  ‘Murder for hire is rare,’ Reese reminded her.

  ‘I know. I’m reaching here. Hopefully we’ll get some DNA off the brick or under the victim’s fingernails. One of his gloves came off. But it will take weeks to get the results back.’

  ‘You don’t have any other suspects?’

  Lauren recounted the story of the mysterious Steinarsson, whereabouts unknown. Even as she told him about the disappearing act, she knew what was going to come out of Reese’s mouth before he said it. ‘Put a pin in the brother, you need to find this guy from Iceland.’

  Which was exactly what she was afraid he was going to say.

  NINETEEN

  Lauren knew something was going on as soon as she walked into the Homicide office. Marilyn looked up from her computer where she was inputting the payroll and whispered, ‘All the bigwigs are here. They’re in the War Room on the fifth floor. I think they’re here for you.’

  Lauren’s eyes surveyed the Homicide squad. The hallway was empty and silent. Every single office door was closed. The usual morning ruckus was nonexistent, a sure sign that everyone was lying low. ‘Is Agent Lawton here?’ she asked Marilyn.

  ‘He came in early and went into your office, but he must have gotten a text or phone call because he walked right back out. I think he’s up there with the brass. He didn’t take his coat with him.’

  ‘Connolly?’

  She pointed with her pen to his door. ‘He’s in there, waiting for you.’

  Lauren tapped Marilyn’s desk with her palm in thanks and headed for her sergeant’s office. Everything could have changed overnight. The brass and the DA’s office and the Feds might have decided that she was too much of a liability and needed to go. Swallowing hard, she rapped on Connolly’s door.

  He opened it with one hand while putting his suit jacket on with the other. ‘Good. You’re here. Everyone is waiting on us.’

  ‘I got stuck in traffic,’ she said, glancing at the clock over Marilyn’s desk. She was only five minutes late.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Let’s go.’

  She held up her tote bag. ‘Can I put my stuff away?’

  He reached over, grabbed the bag, and threw it on the floor next to his desk. ‘It’s put away. Let’s go.’

  Marilyn’s face was twisted in concern as Lauren walked past her, following the sergeant to the elevators. ‘What’s going on, Sarge?’ she finally asked as they stepped into the empty car.

  The sarge swiped the card reader and hit the button for the fifth floor. ‘I got a call at seven this morning from the police commissioner that there would be a meeting at eight thirty with the district attorney, Papineau, and a representative from the mayor’s office about the Gunnar Jonsson homicide.’

  ‘Are they taking me off the case?’

  The door slid open. ‘I don’t know,’ he said gruffly, hands stuffed down in his pockets. Connolly hated the administrative part of his job. He just wanted to make sure his crew of detectives was doing what they were supposed to do and solve some homicides. Lauren knew what Connolly thought of the upper tier of the Buffalo Police Department: that they were politicians, not cops, and he made that sentiment known many times. Them making him and Lauren come to this meeting was an affront to his authority over his detectives. Lauren’s shooting the day before had been properly handled, referred to internal affairs for review, and in his mind the decision to let her keep working the case should be respected, not second-guessed by upper management.

  The War Room was the nickname they’d given to one of the old Federal Court’s conference rooms, just off of Police Commissioner Barbara Bennett’s office. It was smaller than the huge room the police academy had on the third floor, which was outfitted with audiovisual equipment for critical incident management. The War Room on the fifth floor consisted of a rectangular table with three chairs on each side and one at the head and foot. The chair at the head of the table was flanked on either side by an American flag and the flag of the Buffalo Police Department. A large window was positioned right behind the head chair, illuminating whoever sat there like some kind of law-and-order deity. Today Barbara Bennett was sitting there bathed in sunlight when they walked in, looking like some kind of avenging angel in her dress uniform, face set in a deep frown.

  That was when Lauren knew it was serious. The brass only wore their dress blues for important functions or occasions. Lauren had just become an important function. Sitting to the left of Bennett at the table was Ansel Carey and Deputy Mayor Samantha Lloyd. On the right side was District Attorney Carl Church, SAC Sam Papineau, and Matt Lawton. ‘Detective Sergeant Connolly, Detective Riley, come in. Please,’ she gestured to the only two open chairs. ‘Have a seat.’

  Connolly was ahead of Lauren, grabbing the chair next to the deputy mayor, leaving Lauren the seat at the end of the table. She realized she hadn’t taken her winter coat off, or her gloves. Her knit hat was sticking out of her jacket pocket.

  ‘I’m going to assume we all know each other and skip the formalities. We’ve had some developments in the Gunnar Jonsson case,’ the commissioner began, folding her hands in front of her. ‘Special Agent in Charge Papineau has been in contact with the State Department. Agent Papineau?’

  Papineau cleared his throat and opened a small laptop in front of him. ‘The Icelandic government has taken great interest in the case, for obvious reasons. Their consulate in New York City has been in constant contact with our office since the victim was identified as an Icelandic citizen. We’ve been keeping them updated on the case. Agent Lawton says that as of last night both the victim’s siblings have alibis?’

  The last question was directed to Lauren. Matt must have read the progress reports she filed the night before. She glanced over at him and he nodded ever so slightly. ‘Ryan Hudson did give a statement last night that included an alibi witness. I haven’t verified his story yet—’

  ‘I have one of my investigators on his way to Tony Borrelli’s office, and another to the pawn shop as we speak,’ Carl Church said, cutting her off.

  Lauren and Carl had a lot of history, not all of it good.

  He had his hands clasped in front of him as well, leaning back, relaxed in his chair. Lauren used to tease Reese when he first started shaving his head that he looked like Church, but any resemblance ended at the bald head. Dark-skinned and fit, Church was a former marine who valued loyalty above all things. Lauren had violated that loyalty two years before with David Spencer, and was still trying to earn her way into his good graces again. Carl was a difficult man to read. Lauren didn’t know if he was there to make sure she was off the case or on it.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Lauren said, looking around, resisting the urge to scratch her nose. The lemony s
cent of the wood polish the cleaners used on the table burned in her nostrils. They must have cleaned the room right before the meeting started. ‘Why are your investigators working our case?’

  ‘The consulate and powers that be in Iceland want this matter resolved.’ Papineau’s eyes slid to Matt, then back to Lauren. ‘I’ve been keeping them abreast of the investigation. Agent Lawton’s reports state that another Icelandic citizen was staying in Gunnar Jonsson’s hotel with him and fled immediately after the murder.’

  ‘Agent Lawton is pretty quick with forwarding his reports,’ Connolly said. Lauren glanced at Matt again, who was concentrating his attention on his superior.

  ‘The authorities in Iceland want’ – Papineau looked down at his laptop screen – ‘Ragnar Steinarsson either cleared or charged as soon as possible.’

  ‘Wait a second, that’s not how a murder investigation works,’ Lauren protested.

  ‘Do you have any other viable suspects?’ Papineau asked.

  ‘We’re not done here. Hector Avilla was following up with a possible snitch. We haven’t ruled out a street robbery. Hell, we haven’t ruled out Mr Hudson’s nurse, Erna, yet.’ Lauren was pleading her case now, her voice rising an octave. ‘They can’t take over my homicide investigation. Commissioner,’ she turned to Barbara Bennett. ‘They can’t take me off this case, can they?’

  ‘They don’t want to take it away from you,’ the Commissioner assured her. ‘They want you and Agent Lawton over in Iceland, following up.’

  Sucking in a breath of surprise, Lauren’s eyes went wide. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘This is a very delicate matter,’ Papineau continued, picking up where the commissioner left off. ‘We have to consider that Mr Jonsson may have been murdered because of his sexual orientation, making it a hate crime. Murders are a rare event in Iceland. And the person who was with Gunnar Jonsson, Ragnar Steinarsson, is apparently a very well-connected businessman in Reykjavik. His country’s government wants this matter handled expediently, effectively, and quietly, especially if Steinarsson turns out not to have been involved in the homicide.’